


boys keep swinging

by awenswords



Series: Voltron One-Shots [3]
Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Bisexual Allura (Voltron), Bisexual Lance (Voltron), Coming Out, Female Pronouns for Pidge | Katie Holt, Gay Shiro (Voltron), Heterosexual Hunk (Voltron), Lesbian Pidge (Voltron), M/M, hot aliens, implied Keith/Lance - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-29
Updated: 2018-11-29
Packaged: 2019-09-02 03:35:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,505
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16778812
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/awenswords/pseuds/awenswords
Summary: Lance is at a diplomatic gala, surrounded by hot people, and he's supposed to sit there and avoid making trouble? Not likely to happen. Nothing says a good time quite like hitting on beautiful aliens - the boys too, much to the surprise of the other Paladins. That's one way to come out of the closet.





	boys keep swinging

The air smells faintly sweet, some mingle of oranges and sharp cut grass and a cotton-candy bubblegum scent that underlies everything. It’s undeniably alien, wafting from large pink flowers that fold and twist, hundreds of petals fanning out like feathers or fur. The creatures that flow by are no less inhuman, lanky-limbed and tall, with prominent collarbones and bony fingers. Green and blue and teal, lightly scaled. They make up the brunt of the ballroom, in their gossamer fabrics and painted shoulders (intricate, colorful, it signifies something that no other species has been able to quite decode). Among them clamor dancing, dark-skinned beings with three eyes and high cheekbones, adorned with gold and silver and shimmering jewels. There are yellow creatures, delicate and floating with soft steps and glittering fingers. Clinging to the side of the high-ceilinged room are tall, doe-eyed humanoids, daintily furred but heavily scarred with long snouts and large, towering antlers.

And Lance is _fucking miserable_. He’s eyeing a bubbly concoction sure to take the edge off of his undying, unending, everlasting torment. But - because he has terrible luck - Shiro quickly pushes the intricate glass pitcher away and says, “This isn’t college, Lance.”

He can’t help but shrug, “It’s a party, full of hot people, and I’m on time-out.”

Shiro clearly has to hold himself from rolling his eyes when he says, “It’s a diplomatic event. Just don’t...get us in trouble. Please. Not again.”

Lance sighs, putting every ounce of drama into it.

“Go have fun. You’re dismissed.”

He snorts, tipping back in his chair as he surveys the crowd. A quick prayer to any god he can think of, and he stands up, “Wish me luck, my man, I am on a valiant mission.”

A step forwards, he squares his shoulders, time to dive into the crowd. Shiro is chuckling behind him, and he can practically _feel_ Keith's glare burning into the back of his neck but, whatever, fuck him (a small part of Lance, the back of his mind, thinks _boy would I like to_ but he's learned to dismiss the voice because, well, that's never happening). So he grins, salutes clumsily and bows.

Pidge rolls her eyes and mutters, "Save some of the ladies for me." Someone needs to get that kid under control, she's learning far too much from Lance. He's proud of her, really, but - Allura is nodding now. Lance _was_ grateful by the sheer lack of straight people on the Castle of Lions - with Hunk as the sole heterosexual - but now he thinks, Allura is so pretty (and beautiful and perfect and wonderful and strong) that's she'll steal all of the girls _and boys_ from him, which is not fair at all.

Into the crowd.

It’s just his luck - really, he’s lucky, in all honestly - that a tremendously attractive something stumbles by, a long-stemmed glass held gracefully in one long-fingered, ring-adorned hand. He steadies himself on Lance’s arm with something close to a giggle, face flushing - is that _green?_. Yes, green, and definitely a boy, judging by the signifying coils of wire along his right ear.

“Ah - ” Lance stammers, swallowing and struggling to get his bearings with a tall young man draped in silky fabrics of all colors pressed against him, “are you alright?”

The alien moves back a half-step, taking a sharp swig of his glass and setting it on the table behind Lance, “You are a Paladin of Voltron, are you not?” He speaks with a slight accent, soft and almost singsong. He sounds _regal_.

“Yes,” Lance says, fighting back a blush, “Lance McClain, Blue Paladin,” He tries for something close to flirting as he reaches out to shake the alien’s hand, “And _who_ are you?”

“Hilan Shali,” He replies smoothly, the _h_ sound disappears into the back of his throat with his accent.

“Pleasure to meet you Hilan Shali,” Lance grins, trying to look effortlessly cool as he searches his mind for a pick-up line, “I’d ask if we’ve met before, but I think I’d remember someone as gorgeous as you.” _Yes!_. He congratulates himself and decides that was successful.

Hilan blushes again, squaring his shoulders and reaching behind Lance for his glass, “May I get you a drink, Lance McClain?” He gestures airily to a server, light fabrics swaying as he moves his hand. His palm comes to rest on Lance’s upper arm as he takes another sip of his drink.

“Just a club soda, thank you.”

He gives Lance a quizzical look, then says, “I will order you something, then.”

“Just not - I’m under strict orders not to get drunk, so. A regular drink.”

With a nod, he turns to speak to the server, another tall blue-person, this time with thin gold wires threading through her right ear. Hilana’s hand remains on Lance’s arm. Lance watches as he speaks in hushed tones to the waitress, in an alien language Lance can’t decipher. The young man’s cheeks glimmer as he speaks, a flowing movement that follows the patterns of his speech. The colors on his shoulders are swirls of pink and yellow over a deep blue. Spirals of paint twist down his right arm and extend along his middle finger, just barely touching the blue of Lance’s armor. Through Hilana’s draping garb - a tunic of some sort, sheer above the waist - Lance can see that the paint continues along his chest, ending in strokes of pink along where his ribcage must be.

Hilan makes a grand gesture and the waitress melts back into the milling crowds of beautiful aliens. He moves his attention back to Lance, hand dropping to rest at his side. Lance takes a brief moment to mourn the loss of the painted hand on his bicep, may it rest in peace.

“Sooo,” Lance says, “I’m the team’s sharpshooter. Never missed a shot.” He shoots Hilan finger guns (obviously the best, most successful method of flirting) and a wink.

The alien smiles easily, revealing faintly pointed teeth that are both terrifying and _really fucking hot_. Lance flushes and wishes for a drink. For a fleeting moment, he feels like an awkward preteen - but no, wait, he’s eighteen years old and he’s saved this world and many others. And, you know, the universe. He’s _fucking impressive_. A total catch. Yeah.

“You know, Hilan, I’ve saved the universe a few times. Defender of the universe, that’s me. Pretty cool, huh?”

“What is it like, being in battle, Lance McClain?” Hilan is actually interested, woah. Lance is taken aback.

He decides he likes the way Hilan says his name.

Lance smirks, leaning forwards, trying to look effortless and cool and hot. He hopes it’s working. He thinks of the latest fight and says, “It’s really - fast-paced, you have to be focused. There's something fun and exciting about it though."

Hilan nods, still smiling - but softer now, and he opens his mouth to speak but is interrupted by a voice behind him calling his name, and he says, face falling, "I am afraid I must be off, now, Lance McClain. I should like to see you again soon." He presses a hand - light, graceful - against Lance's waist as he turns to leave. The touch seems to burn, through layers of armor, deep into his skin.

"Call me!" Lance winks, saying farewell in the form of finger guns.

After a moment of staring at the spot Hilan once stood, he turns back to the table, shakily sitting down. At some point, the server came with his drink and set it down to his left. It's faintly bubbly, with a sharp, ginger-like taste.

When he looks up, they're all _watching him_.

"Um," he says eloquently.

Allura flushes and looks at loss for words, "Lance. I don't mean to embarrass you, but - that was a man."

Lance blinks. "Um," he says again, slowly, "yeah, I know. And a hot one, at that. I'm not just a chick magnet!"

"You mean - " Keith sputters, looking everywhere but Lance, "you're - uh - " Shiro shoots him a silencing look. Pidge cackles, and Hunk looks mildly uncomfortable.

"I'm a genius, so I normally know what's going on, but what's up with you guys?"

"Lance, I don't mean to make assumptions or out you, but - "

Lance laughs, still confused, "Out me? I'm not closeted though. You guys really didn't know - "

"No, Lance, we definitely didn't know," Keith mutters, sinking down into his chair as if he's being swallowed by the floor.

"You're all dumbasses, frankly. I'm very, very, bisexual. It's not a secret or anything."

"You only flirt with women," Allura says softly, "we just assumed - "

"Dude, I don't know who I'm flirting with half the time. I see a hot alien, I go for it. Aliens like you, princess."

She rolls her eyes, sighing.

"Now we have something in common - imagine that, us, a bisexual power couple. Can I interest you in some of _this?"_ He asks, gesturing to himself. Allura neglects to respond.

"I hope Hilan comes back," Pidge mutters, "so we can see you make a fool of yourself again."


End file.
